


Two Rubes in the Fountain

by Deannie



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Community: picfor1000, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roque is still glaring at me and I know he’s not seeing the bright side here. What he’s seeing is two days in a holding cell because the courts and bail-bondsmen are closed for Christmas and he’s too damned candy-assed to call one of the other Losers to bail us out.</p><p>Not that I’m using my phone call for that, either. He’s not kidding about them—they’ll crucify us with this one if they ever find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Rubes in the Fountain

**Author's Note:**

> Remember in [Christmas with the Living](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5398187), when Roque told the guys about Clay getting them arrested in Reno? Yeah, well—here it is!
> 
> The picfor1000 image, she is [here](https://www.flickr.com/photos/sjoygrady/5729042882), entitled "Make a Wish," by Sarah Grady. Picfor1000 is a challenge community on livejournal: you get a photo prompt and have to write a fic based on it. The fic must be exactly 1000 words. That doesn't include the words "the end" at the end, by the by.

“I ain’t calling them.”

I look over and sigh. Roque’s lying on the bolted-down cot, eyes closed and his arm over them for good measure. Looks as rough as I feel.

“What?” He lifts his arm and cranes his neck to glare at me. “I’m not. You think we’ll never live down Helsinki? What the hell is Jensen gonna do with this?”

That’s a point. The asshole still finds reasons to hum _Dancing Queen_ at the worst times. This friggin’ jumpsuit itches. I wonder if they washed it since the last guy wore it. Would probably help if I was wearing underwear...

“You know, technically we’re the victims here,” I tell him, rubbing the raw spot on my ass where I must have landed in that fountain. Not that I remember it.

The laugh Roque lets out is long and loud and pissed as hell. I’m going to be paying for this one for the rest of my natural life. “Victims of your fucking sex drive, man!”

“I didn’t see you saying no to her friend,” I bark back. There’s no point to this. “Look, why don’t we just get some sleep? They’ll arraign us in a couple of days, we’ll have our say, make our statement. Out before New Years with a fine and time served.”

“And what the hell are you going to say, Clay, huh?” he asks. I was hoping he’d be too out of it to think of that tonight. He stands up and creaks toward me, coming up as close as he can, under the circumstances—close enough that I smell the vodka on his breath. “You gonna tell ‘em the truth? You hooked up with _another_ woman who fucked you over? Stole all your damn money and left you off your head and naked in a fucking fountain on Christmas Eve?”

Shockingly, not the worst thing a woman’s ever done to me. And the sex was good before they took us for a ride—she wasn’t the only one fucking me over, after all. It’s been long enough since Roque and I last got into that, that it was kind of nice. The girls thought so, too. I figure it’s why they waited to spike the Stoli. Foursomes are a lot more fun when you’re all awake and aware. And luckily, we partied in their room, not ours. Didn’t even have our key cards on us...

Roque is still glaring at me and I know he’s not seeing the bright side here. What he’s seeing is two days in a holding cell because the courts and bail-bondsmen are closed for Christmas and he’s too damned candy-assed to call one of the other Losers to bail us out.

Not that I’m using my phone call for that, either. He’s not kidding about them—they’ll crucify us with this one if they ever find out.

“If you could just, for _once_ , keep your brains out of your dick when you see a pretty face,” he gripes.

“Look, who knew they were going to lace the drinks?” I ask him, pulling myself to my feet and facing him through the bars that separate us. “Did you? Because I didn’t see _you_ all clean and sober, did I?”

“It was your dumbass idea to come here in the first place,” he mutters. “We could’ve gone anywhere, but no, you had to come to Reno. Hell, we could’ve gone to your mother’s—”

“You keep my mother out of this, Roque.” He knows better than to fuck with that. Isn’t like she even knows what day it is, probably, and he’s an asshole for rubbing that in. “You didn’t have to come. You could have found yourself something else to do. Some other party to be at.”

He falls silent because I played the trump card and he knows it. There’s no other party for either of us. Hasn’t been since we met, really.

“Where the hell else would I spend Christmas Eve?” he asks finally. “Ain’t had one go right since I met you.” He gives me that grin that’s gotten us both into trouble too damn many times in the last twenty years. “I’d be an asshole to break the streak now, right?”

I back off with a tired chuckle. My head is killing me, I feel like a fucking moron, and at the end of the day, William Roque is still my best friend. God help me.

“We’re gonna have a hell of a time getting someone to front the bail, you know?” he says, heading back to his own bunk to lie down exactly like he was when we started this. “No IDs, no collateral…”

“Guess I should’ve stuffed some coins from that fountain in my pants,” I say, cradling my head in my hands.

Roque laughs wryly. “Would’ve had to be wearing pants for that, you dumbfuck.”

We both fall silent, nursing hangovers in separate cells. It’s fine—par for the course on Christmas Eve, right? And it’s not like our passports and military IDs aren’t in our hotel room—the police will oblige us and retrieve them, if only to confirm that they don’t have two brazen fugitives on their hands or something. I’ve got enough in my travel bag to pay the fine for the both of us. This isn’t the first time a woman’s left me high and… well, high and wet, this time.

I’ve learned to plan for disaster.

“Hey Roque?” I call out, cheery enough to irritate the hell out of him.

“What?” he growls.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Fuck you.” But there’s a smile there.

Hell, we’ve spent Christmas in worse places, he and I. Can’t remember one, but I know it’s true. The important thing is that we’ve spent them together, right?

Or maybe that’s the pathetic part.

But as I look over at him and he starts to snore, I realize I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So just what kind of a loser does that make me?

*********  
the end


End file.
